


Losing battle

by Icelandic_Flutterby



Series: The Sack of Doriath [2]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Fem ! Celegorm, Second Kinslaying | Sack of Doriath, Self-Harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-29
Updated: 2020-01-29
Packaged: 2021-02-27 20:08:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 301
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22469155
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Icelandic_Flutterby/pseuds/Icelandic_Flutterby
Summary: Celegorm advocated for fighting Doriath.
Relationships: Celegorm | Turcafinwë & Curufin | Curufinwë
Series: The Sack of Doriath [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1614445
Kudos: 5





	Losing battle

**Author's Note:**

> I genuinely dont know how to tag this, if anyone has a suggestion or two, i would welcome it.

There was a fire under her skin, an itch in her fingers, an ache in her limbs. Something in her _yearned_. She'd tried to ignore it for years, decades possibly. She'd been trying to ignore it for so long and she was so tired. Surely giving in would be fine? It would solve a problem or two of theirs. Fulfill a... She bit her lip hard, gnashing just to make sure it'd bleed. 

She had to ignore it. She must ignore it. She knew this. But...  
She burns. She burns with the need of action, with the overwhelming longing, the terrible twisting thoughts wouldn't leave her alone, screaming, begging. "It's so close" something in her whispered. "Much closer than the other two." She snarled, trying to dislodge the thoughts. "It wouldn't even be hard," it whispered. She shook her head, clawed at her arms, wished her formerly faithful hound were here, to distract her, but he is gone, gone gone gone, forever. Her hróa and fëa ache and she wishes she were free.

She goes out on a run. The longing does not leave, and she keeps running. Perhaps, if she exhausts herself, she will no longer notice the whisperes, the ache, the longing, the anger.

When she returns, arms bloody, her brother is speaking with a messanger. They are both grim, and a small, almost forgotten part of her shivers with fear. She goes to them, inquires after the news, and is told that her eldest siblings are considering marching after the Silmaril - Dior refuses to give it over. That small, near forgotten part of her drowns, quietly and exhaustedly, and she is left only with the longing, aching, _burning._

_When the seven siblings meet up, she has a thousand different arguments to convince them.  
They lay siege on Doriath._


End file.
